


Mama Was A Beestinger: Valen

by ThatJoser



Series: Mama Was A Beestinger [3]
Category: Acquisitions Inc., Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatJoser/pseuds/ThatJoser
Summary: The tale behind one small branch of the Beestinger family tree.





	Mama Was A Beestinger: Valen

          Valen Beestinger-Drache is the lone child of Ander Drache and Rhalia Beestinger. Ander, his father, was a hard-working man who rose to the rank of Captain of the City Guard. His work ethic and devotion to his family kept him going through the near constant raids from bandits sent by the local corrupt Lord of Laerhaven, a small but influential capital nearby. His mother, Rhalia, daughter of the legendary Rosie Beestinger (yes, _that_ Rosie Beestinger), was highly educated in medicine, law, as well as the many countless tales and bits of wisdom imparted by her mother, Rosie. When she wasn’t trying to figure out ways to help the city and its people, she was educating young Valen in the ways of righteousness, justice, fairness, and kindness. She taught him halfling stories and even how to speak the language. Valen’s best childhood memories were the nights around the fireplace, learning how to fence and guard from his dad or hearing another one of grandma’s handed-down tales about the stars. If Valen followed in either of his parents’ footsteps, there was no doubt they would both be proud.

            When Valen was 10 years old, a brazen raid took his parents from him. Under cover of pre-dawn mist, a raiding party snuck in through the town’s most vulnerable spot; a stream that fed the center with water from the nearby river. While the walls were always fortified, the wooded area around the stream was considered difficult terrain to pass through for an all-out attack, which is what cost the city that fateful day. Before the alarm could be sounded, half the guard was slaughtered in their beds. Ander rushed from his bed, shield and sword in hand, to help fight off the bandits. Rhalia stayed behind to protect Valen and their possessions, quarterstaff in hand, she led Valen to a hiding spot and told him to stay there “no matter what” until she came to get him. Her last words to him were “Always, always, always to what is right, my child. I love you, always.” When the attack was over, Ander lay dead in the center of town, surrounded by half a dozen dead bandits. Only Rhalia’s quarterstaff was found at the edge of town.

            As the years went by, Valen, under care of the mayor’s family, devoted his time to training to be a member of the city guard just like his father while never forgetting the ideals instilled in him by his mother. His father’s sword and shield became his weapons, his mother’s quarterstaff, a Beestinger family heirloom, became his totem. He devoted his life to doing what was right and to protecting those around him.

When he was 16, he ran away looking to find signs of his mother in Laerhaven. Nobody from the city ever visited Laehaven for fear of being recognized by bandits and fear of retaliation thinking they might be in town to report them to the authorities, never knowing the authorities themselves participated in the raids. As Valen made his way through the town asking questions, he garnered more and more attention from the wrong people- well, in that place, they were all the wrong people. Turning down a small street, he was accosted by several of Laerhaven’s residents. They all wore the same sigil, the mark of the Lord of Laerhaven. He turned to run but was cut off. If it wasn’t for the world turning black in an instant, he might have died that day. When he could see again, he was back outside the gates of his home with only a note in his hand and a small bundle of baked goods, tightly wrapped, in the other.

By age 22, he had risen up the ranks to Guard Lieutenant. He devoted himself to his work as his father had. Training hard and working harder should the day come when he would need to fight. He also made it his purpose to rebuild and bolster the defenses of the city, especially at the stream’s edge near the river. This constant push eventually soured his relationships with the rest of the guards, not out of spite but out of pity. He simply could not allow himself to fail the town. He obsessed with the weaknesses of the guard and often interrupted town hall meetings and guard meetings with suggestions on how to improve things. His neighbors grew tired of it but they understood. After all, a memorial in the town square was built to honor the fallen guard captain, Ander, on the spot upon which he fell defending the town. Valen refused to let one for his mother be built on the belief that she was still alive somewhere.

By 30, Valen had become one of the most skilled fighters in the guard, and the whole town. Adventurers passing through were carefully evaluated by Valen, secretly, as he sought to understand the lure of the adventuring life. “How could people leave those they care about behind when they need protection?” He wondered as he saw people from so many walks of life, so many statuses, so many different races… all seeking something. He thought of the tales of his grandmother, of the stories about having over two-hundred aunts and uncles somewhere in the world… but his duty was to protect his home and to someday bring justice to those who took everything away from him. A duty he felt a stronger sense for with every successful defense against raiders and bandits that came over the years. Attacks that cost the invaders more than the defenders over time. Attacks that would not cease.

Soon after, a knight took up residence in the town. Not just any knight. He called himself a Knight of Holy Judgement. When Valen was not at his secluded post by the river’s edge, he found himself speaking to this now-retired stranger more and more. They traded stories and lessons about the ways of justice and righteousness, the very things Rhalia would talk about. The paladin spoke of his devotion to the god, Tyr. Valen was fascinated by this and wondered if his mother would approve of this path but as with all things, it only brought him sadness and pain to think about. He could not leave the duties of his home. The paladin sympathized with him and offered the advice, “When we do what is right and just, we honor those who came before us. The gods, themselves, our brothers, our fathers, our mothers. You keep protecting those you care about and never stray from this path. It is what your mother and father instilled in you. It is the righteous path.”

A year later, as Valen watched over the woods from his hidden post, he happened to spot the very thing he was prepared for. A small group of heavily-cloaked bandits were making their way down the riverbed towards the stream. He watched silently as they turned towards the town. He waited until they had nowhere to escape to but to go through him. Father’s shield on his arm and sword in his hand, he dispatched the bastards one by one. It was easy for the first two he caught by surprise but the other three, they were big. Big and angry. They turned on him but he had the advantage of his armor and weapons against the knives and daggers the attackers carried. He parried and deflected their heavy blows and dispatched another before taking a hard shot to the arm from a very large fist. “Orcs…” He growled. The two remaining set on him. The advantage was his in the muddy banks of the stream where he prepared every day for years. Their attacks were fierce but his armor withstood. Another went down. The last one standing looked upon Valen with rage and hatred in his eyes but twisted into a laugh. “This was only supposed to be a diversion.” The orc croaked just as Valen ran him through. Diversion? No…

Before the shock could be allowed to set in, before the thoughts could run away with him, he ran for town as fast as he could. In the air, the smell of burning timber and cloth and hay and the sound of the dying screams. As he reached the walls, he saw a force much larger than any before. A full regiment of guardsmen from Laerhaven, still in uniform. A group of other cloaked bandits all standing side by side with the supposed authorities. All around them, the bodies of his neighbors and fellow city guard… and at the center of it all, sitting high atop of a gold-armored white steed, the Lord of Laerhaven himself. Valen had never set eyes on this creature and he vowed never to forget the visage. The orc, adorned in black and gold armor, watched gleefully as the city went up in flames; only lives were extinguished. Valen could not make out the sounds or the words the orc said but soon, the last remaining resident was brought out of his home and made to kneel before the Lord of Laerhaven. A retired paladin now clinging to his bloodied sword and shield. Valen held in his scream as the paladin’s head was cleaved from his body. He held back the tears of rage as the Lord of Laerhaven laughed and spat on the monument honoring the fallen Captain Drache before toppling it with a kick from his horse. He held back from rushing them and killing as many as he could. He wanted to but he couldn’t move. It was like something held him back. He merely watched and, when the town was cleared and left empty, wept.

Among the ashes of everything he loved, he found only the quarterstaff from his mother, singed but fine. In the church, he found a pack under the corpse of the priest, father Patrick. They must have missed it when they searched for everything to steal. At the town center, he knelt beside the monument and vowed to see justice brought to his home and all who he had failed to protect. He apologized to the late paladin. Placing his father’s shield where the monument once stood and the paladin’s sword, he left town carrying the shield of the Knight of Holy Judgment on his arm, his father’s sword, his mother’s quarterstaff, and the note he received one day long ago. A note which read: “My dear sweet son. How I long to see your handsome face again but it is not possible yet. Do not worry for me and do not come to this terrible place again. Someday, we will be together again and we can share stories again but now is not the time. You must grow to be a strong man just like your father. You must believe that justice will come. Follow the righteous path always and never fail to do what is right. I believe in you, my beautiful Valen. Your grandmother would be so proud. Your father, too. Be my light, dear son. Love always, mom.”


End file.
